thebibliosphere:

As a general rule of thumb, angels did not need to sleep—not in the same way humans did. But there was something restful about the ritual of a nightly routine which Aziraphale enjoyed greatly, donning his tartan flannel pajamas and brown comfortable slippers with all the reverence and solemnity of a monk preparing for midnight mass. If a midnight mass ever involved a hot cup of cocoa and a good book in front of a roaring fire. But there was something different about tonight, something that needled away under his skin like an itch that no amount of ritual familiarity could sooth. Not even his old flannel bathrobe and his favorite armchair—a measure he reserved only for the most fraught of occasions—was enough to quell the prickly chill working over his skin as the thought he’d been trying to avoid for some time came crawling to the forefront of his mind. Crawling being the operative word.

We can run away together, he’d said, Alpha Centauri, lots of space up there, no one would even notice us…

[KEEP READING]